mxrdrake:

frauleinkunstlerin:

        Day after day, week after week, time passed by, like the raindrops trailing their endless way down the windowpane. There was no escape. Not for the drops, not for the inmates, not for Elsa Mars. She was just sitting there, staring into the pale nothing in front of her. Now and then, the nurses had to check if she was still breathing. She wished she would not be. If the blonde’s chest would not raise and fall, one could believe that she was dead. Now and then, she had to blink, when the burning in her hazel eyes got too unbearable. But that — sitting, breathing, blinking — was all she ever did, when she got to leave her cell and spend some time in Briarcliff’s common room.

        After Mars was sent to the Asylum, her vivid personality turned into the opposite. She could not see any sense in moving on. They told her that those she loved most, her freaks she used to live with, were not real. But where did all the memories in her head come from? No, she refused to believe that she made them up in her mind, this could not be true. Elsa had been their leader, their singer, their very own mother, and now, she got told that none of those things ever happened. But they did happen! … right?

        Trying to make herself believe that she was not insane, that she was not one of them, she did not even realize it at first. Him. He was almost doing the same. Standing in the corner of the common room, observing the place. The difference between them? He was wearing a white coat. Obviously, he belonged to Briarcliff’s staff. Making her woodened legs stand straight when she got off the couch, Elsa headed towards this strange creature. She knew him. Of course she did.

        She stopped walking right in front of him. Her expression showed disbelief, confusion. Slowly, her head moved closer to his face, until they almost touched, as if she was checking if this man was real like everyone else in this room. Her conclusion followed quickly, in a quiet, lightly shaking voice.

        “I know you. You … you are Edward Mordrake. I’m not crazy, but you are. You’ve got … you’ve got two faces. They talk to each other.”

Standing off to the corner, the doctor observed the patients at play. Perhaps his fellow companions thought little of such behaviour, but he believed play was beneficial. It offered enrichment, and many of his patients let their careful masks fall away and he could observe them better without them.

However, his thoughts were interrupted when he was approached, and he offered a small smile. “I am Doctor Mordrake, yes. If you prefer to call me Edward, I would not mind in the slightest.” Anything to offer comfort, camaraderie. “Though…” His face somewhat fell. He was rather touchy about his deformity, and he didn’t think her joke was all that funny. “Yes, I was born a grotesque, but there is no need to make up such fantastical stories.” How did she know? He had never told a soul…

“What is your name, my lady?”

"Fantastical stories … it’s no story, you don’t have to hide it.” Her voice became quieter as she spoke now, not wanting any of the others to hear one single word. What they would do, was dragging her back into her cell, trying to make her forget – no, no, no… Jurkily, Elsa turned her head to observe the room. They were not allowed to hear, to see … They would not understand.

Then, she leaned in her head closer, not even daring to breathe properly. “You know me too. Don’t talk such Stuss, you … wanted to take me in my tent. To the other side, you said. But your demon face wanted to take this, damn, this, clown.” Swallowing hard, the inmate moved back her head to glance at him, her once so beautiful curly hair, all wild. Her statement would sound like the answer was clear. “I am Elsa Mars. You can’t lie to me. Take me now – take me, I can’t live like this!”